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Heart Burn

Colin Pope


at 3 am alone
my stomach grumbles something
in broken spanish

i imagine my stomach to be
lewd, saucy,
sitting on a balcony harassing
large breasted brunette women in
red heels
toothpick between yellowed teeth

“Ay ma-ma-ci-ta” with those
overemphasized syllables that
burn themselves into the brain

nonchalantly raise up
and shuffle towards the

bathroom
and give the pepto bismol an
open mouthed kiss

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